Chapter One
The tea was wonderful. I cupped the warm mug between my hands, letting the hot liquid warm my insides. Through the window, I could see a light snow falling. It wasn’t heavy enough to stick, yet. This was just the precursor. The real heavy snow wouldn’t arrive for a few days. They were predicting a doozy, two feet of snow, maybe more.
It was cold, freezing cold actually. The thermometer, nailed against the bookstore’s door, was sitting at fifteen degrees. It hadn’t moved in days. People hurried past the picture window. Men and women were bundled up in hats, gloves and scarves with their heads down as they charged against the wind.
I felt safe and warm inside the bookstore. Most people hated their jobs, but not me. I loved my job. I couldn’t wait to come to work. The bookstore was warmer than where I was staying and I could drink all the free tea I wanted. Coffee would’ve been better, since it would also give me the caffeine kick to start off the day, but I stopped drinking it just over a month ago, when my pregnancy test came back positive.
The work was easy. I rung up customers, unpacked books, and dusted. An elderly couple named Harold and Sarah owned the Last Word Bookstore. They were both in their seventies and had run the place for forty years.
When I first arrived in Williamstown I spent most of my days in the bookstore. I would spend hours scanning the shelves, looking at all of the titles. It was the cheapest anti-stress therapy I knew, and heaven knows how desperately I needed some.
During one of those visits, I got to talking with Sarah and told her I was looking for work in town. She told me that winters were tough on her and Harold, the cold froze their joints and she worried about slipping on the ice. They were looking for someone to man the shop, but they couldn’t pay much. She offered me ten dollars an hour, under the table and I jumped at the opportunity. I needed a steady source of income more than ever before... plus, this was the kind of work I could keep doing without too many problems well into my pregnancy.
I didn’t tell them I was expecting, though. Sarah and Harold were sweet people, but I was too afraid they’d take back their offer if they knew.
And, besides, I wasn’t even sure I’d stay that long anyway.
That morning, tea in hand, I worked my way through the bookstore. It was housed in an old Victorian-style house. There was a small kitchen in the back which they used for the office, but the rest of the rooms were filled with books.
Books stacked on top of tables and in every corner. There were shelves lining every wall filled with books. One room, that had been a bedroom in another life was filled with fiction books, another was devoted to history. Books everywhere, books as far as I could see. Books that I was allowed to read for free.
I had completed my work for the day. I dusted and wiped down the bookshelves in the history section and set up a big display in the center of the store for the newest Stephen King book. Now the rest of the day was mine. Sitting with my tea and a thick blanket wrapped around my shoulders I reached for the used, paperback copy of Donna Tart’s Goldfinch and lost myself in the pages.
I had been reading for about a half an hour when the bells on the door tinkled. A draft of cold air wafted over to me and I shivered and pulled my blanket closer. The man was fighting against the wind to push the door closed. Just as I stood to help him, he managed to close the door and he turned to me with a sheepish smile.
I smiled at him and he gave me a nod and removed his cap and gloves as he began to move through the store. I looked up at him over the pages of my book, surreptitiously checking him out. He was tall and handsome, with a full head of sandy colored hair. He had a thick, light colored beard and dark brown eyes. I could tell that he had money. His long winter coat was perfectly fitting and looked very new. The scarf was probably cashmere, but I would need to touch it to be sure.
“Let me know if you need anything,” I called out, my voice slightly higher pitched that it normally would have been.
“I’ll be sure to do that,” the man said as he headed upstairs. I heard his footsteps above me. He was heading to the history room. His step was heavy and I could hear him above me as he moved about.
“Good afternoon,” the man said, as he approached the table with a pile of books and a small notepad in one hand.
“Afternoon,” I replied. His hands were clean and he kept his nails neatly trimmed. I could smell an enticing cologne as he stared down at me in a kind way.
I rang up his books quickly. Ancient Myths of the Greeks, Aristophanes, Sophocles, The Life of Hadrian, each book was thicker and denser looking than the last.
“Fifty-four, thirty-two,” I said. He handed me a black card and my stomach lurched. This was a limitless card, he could spend millions with this thing.
Don’t steal, I said to myself. I knew how to do it. I could copy the information on the card and go nuts with it. No more being cold, no more showering at the YMCA, no scouring Goodwill for baby clothes. I could get a room at the fanciest hotel in town, order room service, raid the mini-bar. I could take a hot shower and wrap myself in a warm, fluffy towel. I could afford the best childcare money could buy.
My heart sunk when I handed the card back to him. I always thought doing good deeds would make me feel better, but as I handed the card back to the rich man I only felt sad. The card was slipped back into his wallet like it was nothing. That card could have changed my life, but to him, it was something that he put away and forgot.
“I’ll also need to order a few books.” He slid a piece of paper over to me. Titles were listed neatly, one on each line. He wrote in all caps in neat, tight handwriting. His phone number was at the bottom next to a small note that said, “in case of any problems.”
“Sure, we can get these no problem,” I said. I looked up at him and was surprised to see him staring intently in my face.
I tried not to fidget under his gaze. My hair was a greasy mess piled on top of my head. I had been showering at the local YMCA. Washing and drying my hair was just too much work in this cold weather, so normally I pulled it up off my neck and showered without getting my hair wet. I would wash it on Monday, my day off.
My clothes had been pulled out of a charity bin a few towns over. I was wearing an oversized tourist shirt from the Grand Canyon and a baggy pair of men’s jeans paired with a scuffed pair of black boots. It wasn’t my usual style, but I had left every part of my old life behind, clothes, makeup and jewelry included.
“I hope Sarah and Harold are feeling well, Kristen,” he said glancing down at my nametag.
“Very well,” I replied. ‘They just enjoy staying in on these cold days.”
“That’s good to hear. I don’t want Harold to suffer another fall. When did they hire you?”
I swallowed, panic swirling in my stomach. Why was he asking this, what did he want from me? Had my father sent him? “Just a few weeks ago,” I said.
“Are you new in town?”
“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “I have a cousin who lived here. I used to visit a lot growing up.”
This was my standard story and most people took it at face value.
“Who’s your cousin?” The man asked.
Why do you want to know? I thought. “The Cleves,” I answered. I had found the name in the phone book. There were several people with the last name Cleve in town, including some that had recently moved away.
“Mary Cleves, who lives up near The Hammer and The Stone?” he asked.
Who was this man? Why did he care? Why was he trying to figure me out?
“Never mind,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
I let out a sigh I didn’t remember holding in.
“It’s just rare to see a new face in town. I can’t help but be curious,” he continued.
I smiled as I put his books in a bag, “It’s a lovely town, but I’m probably just staying for a few weeks.”
“That’s a shame,” he said and then he didn’t say anything else. What did he mean by that? My hands shook a little as I handed his bag back to him.
“Stay warm out there,” I said, wishing I could think of something more clever to say.
“You too,” was his reply. “I’ll see you in a few days. For the books,” I nodded and followed him with my eyes as he left. He put on his hat and scarf and pushed out into the cold air. Anton Lev had been the name on the card.